Tag Archives: poem

Gold Man Review, Issue 7

My poem “I Want to Know the Ending,” was recently published in Gold Man Review, a yearly print publication! Whoo hoo!

The publication is available for purchase on Amazon.

There is also a little extra surge of happiness from seeing it in print. It looks great, and working with Gold Man Review, and the editor, has been a pleasure.

So excited to see this year end on such a positive publishing note. Can’t wait for 2018.


“A Black Opus,” in Cleaver #19

I am so excited to be posting that my poem, “A Black Opus,” was published at Cleaver Magazine in Issue 19. It was just released September 15th!

I love the artwork, the presentation is beautiful, and…as a bonus…I got to make an audio recording of me reading.

You can read the poem and get the audio HERE.

The audio is also available on Soundcloud, as part of Cleaver Magazine’s podcast On the Edge. I am so excited about all of it.

Thank you for being amazing, and for reading. Hope you enjoy the poem! ♥

“Momentarily” at Sweet Tree Review

My poem, “Momentarily” is in the Summer issue of Sweet Tree Review. I was drawn to their theme of ineffable connectivity.

As you likely know, connectivity is something I say and struggle with a lot. I also use poetry to get me to or into a connected state, so it was a pleasure to pursue that idea with this publication. The presentation is beautiful, and the other works included are lovely.

“Present Eventually”—The Bookends Review

My poem, “Present Eventually” is at The Bookends Review today! Super pleased to see another poem in that venue.

It’s interesting looking back on this poem, as I wrote it several years ago, but so much of it is applicable to the internal work I’m doing recently. I know what I was writing about meant different things at the time, but it’s amazing to see those words come back to me as help in the present.

“Nature is Nurture” published in Burningword Journal

“Nature is Nurture” published in Burningword Journal

I have been sending poems out like a crazy lady lately. I must have thirty different sets of poems out in the world, in various inboxes of some very tired and underpaid editors. I found out via a tweet that my poem, “Nature is Nurture,” was published today in Burningword Journal. Yay, so happy. This is encouraging after a rather long string of rejections lately. I am also heartened because this is a recent poem—written only a month ago. Below is a screenshot taken from the publication.

Nature is Nurture - Poem

“Memory Fruit” published on Virtual Verse

“Memory Fruit” published on Virtual Verse

My poem “Memory Fruit” is on Virtual Verse’s site today! The concept behind Virtual Verse is to write a poem based on an image they provide.

They provided this lovely and mysterious image by Julien Menier.




To see the poem on Virtual Verse’s site, visit: http://visualverse.org/
You can find it on page 25, toward the bottom.

Here is the poem as shown there! Isn’t it pretty?


Memory Fruit

How Does Inside-out Feel? (poem)

How Does Inside-out Feel? (poem)



asking myself this question
I already know

like books
all that knowledge,
violinist of a breath;
this time healing has come
to mean some things:

the earth is not an oyster,
Shakespeare omitted me
it is the spare tire that you forgot to take
it is the core of the apple
bitten around
teeth sunk like harpoons,

the wake behind the object,
the mass moving and it cannot brake,
a rigid storm who stalls but blows,
the time it takes to type.
The capture always missing.

Hidden Girls

Hidden Girls




Our eyes are our eyes, extensions do not lengthen us.
We blush only for ourselves, knowing the forest for every tree,
surrounding foliage, average rainfall, temperature, even in Celsius.

We hide without hiding, unseen and unseemly.
We are hyper-quiet and lost, insecure in others, but found in self,
finding it all too easy to skip time and generations,

We foresee all calamity arising in the afternoon.
We are walking, talking, skin: all-feeling, heavy in the clouds,
gin tears and pillows, week-old bruises from God-knows-what.

Our time is gold and silence is weighted in weeks and whimpers
in whole wails alongside walls, chilled but comforting.
We don’t pretend to understand Ophelia, but we like the way she lies.
We fantasize about living under a tree, playing as shade, covering, yet true.



After a lifetime of being bombarded with female ideals of beauty, certain skin tones, diets, exercise routines, and a culture that encourages hair dyeing and make up, I realized that wasn’t who I was and how I wanted to spend my energy. I didn’t want to spend my emotional resources wanting to be someone else. Seeing so many homogeneously-faceless people, with mannerisms all the same, and their collective lack of originality in how they looked and the way they expressed themselves, I realized that I’m likely not alone. There are other women who are just being women, hidden behind and away from the culture, and that thought makes me immeasurably happy.

Those Summers

Those Summers

We were pb&j with a spread of apple butter, smooth.
Calm as cucumber skin. We rolled our oats: small dirt-clad seeds
in the summer steam. We ploughed every field,
those small, outspread weeds just drifted in.


The Pursuit of Human Perfection

The Pursuit of Human Perfection



With eyes closed, reaching into the dishwasher,

hand over smooth and pricking mountains,
curve and point, spoon and fork
unknown to me, feels like
a tactile attack.

I hold the fork firmly, bow my head,
and say a silent prayer —
the woes of here and yesterday,
the cold utensil in hand,
the welcome flash of a baby I kissed
in this morning’s dream —
that same preciousness
transferred to the prayer,
to the clasped fork —
I am metal, and hope
and dream,

I alone converse
with the creator of the universe;
I have also burned black
the toast.



You know those moments where you’re doing something routine, such as taking a shower, or washing dishes, and you mind daydreams? While taking dishes out of the dishwasher, with the sun streaming through the window, I paused and appreciated the simple present of being alive. The final stanza reflects that moment being interrupted, peace and human infallibility coming together.

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